Through A Glass Darkly
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: A girl with a secret finds herself involved in Tarzan and Jane's lives. Meanwhile, a serial killer is on the loose and Richard is up to his usual tricks.
1. prologue

Disclaimer: Not my characters.  
A/N: Many thanks to Jan for beta'ing.

* * *

_"For now we shall see through a glass darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then shall I understand fully, even as I have been fully understood."_ 1 Corinthians 13: 12-13

* * *

Prologue

_Philadelphia_

A black curtain swept over her vision first, as it always did, followed by the familiar dull roar of the ocean in her ears.

She blinked.

The man was beautiful, though he bore scars hinting that he was no stranger to fighting. His shoulder-length blond hair was tousled and dirty, and his cheek marred with a crimson line. His mouth opened and closed, and Cas strained to hear what the stranger was trying to say. The image was clear, but his words were muffled by the sound of the ocean.

Then she saw the stranger stumble backwards as two round holes appeared, one after the other on his chest. The stranger didn't seem afraid, and she thought she could almost feel his anger.

Then he was falling, over the short brick wall, which she realized wasn't a wall but a ledge. Falling down through the air towards the sidewalk below.

And suddenly she was seeing through the stranger's eyes, a dark-haired woman staring down at him. And, next to her, a large sign spelling out the word _Greystoke_.

Cas blinked again. Now the only noise she heard was the steady tick-tock of the alarm clock on the bedside table and her own ragged breathing. In the dark, objects slowly came into focus, though waking up was less than comforting. She no longer felt safe in this motel room; it was time to move again. No sooner had she reached that decision than she realized that the periods between her moves were becoming progressively shorter. She had been here less than a fortnight, having picked the city for its sense of anonymity and her desire to lose herself in the crowd.

She knew her latest vision had very little to do with her – her visions rarely did – but she couldn't quite get rid of the unsettled feeling it left her with.

With a shudder, she remembered the last time she had attempted to change the outcome of one of her visions. Even now, almost a year later, she couldn't help wondering if her involvement had only made things worse.

She certainly hadn't helped, she thought bitterly. Abby had died, and now she was on the run for her life. Not for the first time, she wished she wasn't cursed with seeing visions.

"I'm not getting involved," she said to the darkness.

But as she closed her eyes to get a few more hours of sleep, she couldn't get the image of the blond stranger out of her mind. Abby's ghost, whether real or imagined, refused to leave her in peace either.

_It doesn't have to end this way._

* * *

_New York_

He watched the pretty redhead from his vantage point across the street. Lowering his newspaper, he let his eyes travel across her body, admiring the sway of her hips, the way her hair fell just short of her shoulders, the slight bounce to her step. He watched her enter the coffee shop where she worked and smiled.

Stella Di Fabrizi would have been surprised at how much he knew about her. In the three weeks he'd been studying her every move, he had found out not only her name but also her favorite color, the topping she preferred on her pizza, and that she'd just yesterday got a callback for an audition. It was almost a pity, he thought, that she wouldn't show up. He would have loved to see her on stage.

He checked his watch, then folded his newspaper and stood. There were a few final preparations before he could be with Stella.

A little over six hours later, Stella Di Fabrizi left the coffee shop and began the short walk home. She waved to Manny, the hot dog vendor on the corner, and smiled at Louis, the newseller over by the newsstand.

She was thinking about the callback when she arrived at her apartment building and wondering which of her leotards looked the best as she climbed the four flights of stairs to her floor.

As she unlocked the front door, a heavy force hit her from behind and propelled her into the apartment. She hardly had time to process what had happened when a cloth was pressed over her mouth and she passed out.

He stood, closed and locked the front door, then picked up Stella and carried her into the bedroom. After arranging her carefully on the bed, he took the time to admire her long dancer's legs before getting to work.

He opened his kit bag and took out a plastic bag and a pair of scissors. Laying them on the bed, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then knelt next to Stella. She didn't wake as he cut her hair and put it into the plastic bag.

Her hair really was her best feature, he thought wistfully. Such a deep red. It was right that he take it to remember her by.

Then he took out another plastic bag and covered Stella's head, tying it closed at her neck. She started to wake, so he sat on her chest and held her arms. Still weak from the chloroform, she didn't put up much of a struggle. To be sure, he waited a little while longer.

Now there was only one thing left to do. He slowly unbuttoned her blouse and picked up his scalpel.


	2. one

_A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting this. My computer went a little nuts and made life difficult. Grr. Anyway, hope it was worth the wait._

One

_New York  
__Three months later_

Jane Porter knew she was a good cop, and she was proud of it. Her success so far was made all the more sweeter by the knowledge that she'd achieved what she had in the quintessential Boys' Club. For a while, it had seemed as if Jane's star would continue to rise.

Then she'd met John Clayton, Jr., and her perfectly ordered life started spiraling out of control.

Still, perhaps surprisingly, she had only one regret: Michael's death. He hadn't deserved to die. She didn't blame John in any way – it had been an accident – but she did hold herself accountable. Her lies, intended to protect John, had ultimately resulted in the death of the man she had once loved.

A small part of her still grieved the loss of the life she could have had with him. He'd loved her so completely, had even proposed marriage – but by then her heart had belonged to someone else.

She didn't know how to explain what she felt for John. She'd risked her life and her career for him. She'd even, in a moment of weakness, gone as far as to think of him as her soul mate.

Yet she still couldn't bring herself to commit to a relationship with him. Her grief was still too fresh, too raw, and there was also the niggling feeling that John was too good for her.

Sighing, Jane turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Today had been her first day back at work following the hearing, and she was grateful it was over. While most of her colleagues were happy at her return, there were a handful who were still resentful and suspicious.

Jane toweled herself dry and then wrapped the towel around her body. She didn't bother with a dressing gown, intending to pull on a T-shirt and collapse straight into bed.

She didn't count on finding John in her bedroom, sprawled across her bed as he idly paged through a magazine. He looked up and smiled when she entered.

"Jane."

"What are you doing here?" The words came out more harshly than she'd intended.

John's smile faded slightly, but he didn't look away from her. "Your window was open."

Jane pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "I'm sorry, John. I'm not very good company tonight."

He was at her side in a heartbeat. "Something's wrong."

Now that he was so close to her, Jane was very conscious that all that covered her was a towel. She suddenly wished for the comfort of her thick dressing gown. Unconsciously drawing her arms tighter across her chest, Jane shook her head.

"Nothing's wrong. It's just been one of those days."

"What days?"

She couldn't help the small smile that sprang to her face. "It doesn't matter. I just need a good night's sleep."

He didn't take the hint. Either that or he didn't believe her. She suspected it was the latter.

He put his hands on her shoulders and steered her to the bed.

"John, I—"

"Shh." He cut her off before she could protest. "I can help."

"I really don't—"

"Trust me, Jane."

Jane hesitated at the foot of the bed. She did trust him, but she had the feeling that their relationship was on the verge of changing. She wasn't sure she was ready for that.

"I won't hurt you."

"I know," she said.

"Good. Lie down."

Again the nervousness reared its head, but Jane squashed the feeling and lay on her back.

"No, on your stomach."

Jane silently did as she was told, resting her head on her arms. She tensed as John loosed the towel and slid it down, leaving her back exposed. As he began to massage her back, she closed her eyes in contentment. His hands were strong, but he wasn't hurting her.

"Where did you learn this?"

"Nikki."

"Nikki!" Jane's eyes flew open.

"I came to see you this morning, but you had already left. Nikki was watching television. The people on it were doing this. Nikki said it was relaxing and suggested I do it for you."

Despite herself, Jane smiled. "Nikki put you up to this?"

"You don't like it," John guessed, sounding crestfallen. "I'll stop then."

"No," Jane said, almost too quickly. "Don't stop. I do like it."

John resumed the massage, and Jane closed her eyes again, not intending to fall asleep. But John's touch was soothing and hypnotic, comforting almost, and Jane soon drifted off.

* * *

Tarzan lay on his side; his hand absently stroking Jane's back as he watched her sleep. She rarely let her guard down around him, but he was glad she had. Too often, Jane's words were at odds with what he read in her body language. Then again, he noticed the same was true for most people he came across. He wondered why that was, but so far he hadn't found an answer.

Jane shifted in her sleep, moving closer to him and curling into his chest. Surprised, Tarzan kept still for a moment and then put his arm around her to keep her in place. This was unexpected but not at all unwelcome.

Tarzan closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings for her. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe.

* * *

Jane woke up confused as to why there was a man in her bed.

Not just any man. John.

Following quickly on the heels of that discovery was the realization that she was completely naked. John opened his eyes and smiled lazily. Then, as if sensing Jane was about to bolt, he rolled over, pinning her under him.

"Hello," he said.

Jane said nothing, and was relieved to note that John at least had pants on.

His smile widened. "I like this." His hand danced along her ribcage, and he said, wonderingly, "You're so soft."

Jane had to admit that there was something to be said for waking up in the arms of the man she loved. She shifted slightly to ease the pressure of his weight.

"Are you angry that I spent the night?"

Jane hooked her hands behind John's neck to keep him close as she considered her answer. Though her head told her this was a bad idea, her body was screaming for more of his touch.

"No," she said. "I'm not angry."

The first kiss was tentative, but they got progressively bolder. Jane was too busy wondering why she'd been fighting this to hear the knock on the door.

"Jane, I – Oh. I'm so sorry." Nikki quickly backed out of the room and shut the door.

Jane groaned.

"What is it?"

"She's going to think we slept together."

John smiled and rubbed his nose on hers. "We did."

"No, she'll think we," Jane paused, her breath catching in her throat, "made love."

John's fingers traced her collarbone, coming to rest in the hollow at the base of her throat. "How do you make love?"

"Making love is when two people who care deeply for each other," Jane swallowed, "when they mate."

John was silent for a while. When he covered Jane's breast with his hand, her breathing became even more erratic.

"Your heart is beating as fast as mine." He used his free hand to guide one of hers to cover his heart. "Can you feel it?"

"Yes." She shifted again, settling his weight between her legs without consciously realizing what she had done.

"You are my mate," John said, matter-of-factly. "Why are you so afraid Nikki will think we made love?"

Jane licked her lips to moisten them. "I don't know."

"I want to make love with you."

Unable to tear her eyes from his intense gaze, Jane simply nodded in assent. John bent his head to kiss her again when the cell phone on her nightstand rang. Only when she reached for it did she see what the time was and realized she was late for work.

"Porter," she answered.

"Jane, Jane, Jane," her partner said, his tone amused. "Second day back on the job and you're late."

"Sorry, Sam. I overslept. I forgot to set my alarm when I went to bed last night."

"That's a first."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." She hung up and tried to slide out from under John.

"Stay."

"I can't."

"This is better than work."

She smiled. "I never said it wasn't."

"Will you let me sleep with you again tonight?"

"I'll think about it." Jane pressed a quick kiss to his mouth before getting up. "Try to stay out of trouble today, okay?"


	3. two

_A/N: Thanks, as always to Jan for beta'ing._

Two

Home, to Tarzan, had many meanings. He had vague memories of his life before the plane crash. For so many years he had held onto what little he could remember – his mother's voice as she sang him to sleep, his father pushing him on a swing – yet with each passing day, the memories grew that much fainter.

The jungle had never felt like home, though for a long time it was all that he knew. Memories of that time were still vivid – and there were moments when the pain of being alone still lingered. He knew he would never forget that.

Richard Clayton's house had not been a home either; it was a prison. And though Kathleen had tried her best to make Tarzan feel welcome, only with Jane did he truly feel at home.

Now, sitting high up in a tree in Central Park, his thoughts turned once again to Jane. He wondered if what he felt for her was love. He'd never felt anything like this before. Jane belonged to him and he to her. In his mind, it was that simple.

He'd been in New York long enough to know that people distrusted what appeared simple. It confused him how some people went out of their way to make things complicated. Like Jane's rules – she had said they couldn't touch each other, yet she had been the first to break the rule.

Still, things had been changing recently. He thought of how she'd let him spend the night in her bed, and smiled. Maybe she was finally getting ready to let him into her heart.

* * *

Cas shivered slightly as the Fall breeze cut through her thin sweater. 'She should have headed south,' she thought dismally. 'It wouldn't be cold yet in Miami.' She shifted her bag to her other shoulder, not paying much attention to her surroundings. Central Park was her first stop since arriving in New York; she'd come here to think up a plan of action.

"First things first," she said aloud, "a place to stay. Then, a job."

The man came out of nowhere, grabbing her bag and then pushing her to the ground. Cas jumped to her feet; everything she owned was in that bag, and she would not give it up without a fight.

"Hey! That's mine, you bastard!"

Thanking her years on the high school track team, she quickly gained ground. Then, suddenly, a man dropped from one of the trees, landing on Cas' mugger. He stood and held out her bag.

"Wow. Thanks." Cas looked from the fallen mugger to her rescuer, and her smile died on her lips. He was the blond stranger from her dreams.

"Are you all right?"

Mute, she just nodded and accepted the bag, then turned and hurried back the way she had come.

And thought, 'I should have gone to Miami.'

Jane ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, entering the apartment just behind Sam. The CSI unit was already there, taking photographs and bagging evidence. Jane followed the sound of voices to the bedroom. As was always the case, she was taken aback by the brutality of the scene, but she'd been a cop too long to let her discomfort show. Sam gently squeezed her elbow, letting her know he was just as disturbed as she was.

Jane took a deep breath and turned her attention to the girl on the bed. As before, her hair had been cropped close to her skull and her head covered in a plastic bag. And as before, her heart was missing.

The ME, a tall, thin man who always made Jane think of Norman Bates, turned to the detectives. "I'm going to estimate time of death sometime between nine and twelve last night. Based on the amount of blood, I'm guessing the heart was removed ante-mortem."

"She was still alive?" Jane couldn't help the shiver that ran through her.

"Looks like it. I'll have more for you after the autopsy."

"But it's the same as the others?"

"Yeah, looks that way."

"Thanks, Matt." Jane moved aside to let him leave the room. "What do you think, Sam?"

"Three girls in four months. Looks like we've got a serial killer on our hands."

Jane put on a latex glove and then picked up a photo frame. In it, the victim was smiling, her arms around another woman. Both were dressed as 'Twenties' flappers.

"What's her name?"

Sam glanced at his notepad. "Emily Rosa. Twenty-four years old."

Jane set the photo frame back on the dresser. She needed fresh air. "Okay, let's get out of the CSI's way. Maybe one of the neighbors heard something."

* * *

Tarzan watched his aunt for a few minutes before he announced his presence. She was at her desk, typing on her laptop. Every so often, she sipped her coffee. Tarzan remembered how afraid he'd been, when he'd first met her, that she would be like Richard. He'd been pleased to discover that they were nothing alike. Kathleen was warm and caring and genuinely loved him. Richard was cold and cruel and wanted to use him.

Kathleen said his father was different from Richard, too. Tarzan was glad.

He cleared his throat, and Kathleen looked up.

"John!" A smile illuminated her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to ask you about love."

"Ah." Kathleen removed her glasses and leaned back in her chair. "What do you want to know?"

"How do I know what love is?" Tarzan paced as he spoke, without realizing what he was doing. "What I feel for you is different from what I feel for Jane."

"There are different kinds of love, John."

He looked panicked. "Different kinds?"

"Well, there's family love – that's you and me. Then there's friendship love – Jane and me. And then there's romantic love – you and Jane."

"But what if Jane loves me differently?"

"What does your heart tell you?"

"We belong together." There was no uncertainty in his tone.

Kathleen nodded. "Well, there's your answer, then."

* * *

Cas shoved her hands in her jacket pocket and walked quickly, trying to look like she belonged. Her encounter with the blond stranger played over and over in her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a 'Help Wanted' sign, and stopped. She studied the sign for a moment, then took a deep breath and entered _Java Junkie_.

The coffee shop was small, but there was something welcoming about it. A petite brunette, her blue eyes peering out through John Lennon glasses, smiled at Cas. "Hi, I'm Amy; can I get you anything?"

"Uh, yeah, I saw the sign . . ." Cas gestured to the window behind her.

"Oh, right. Okay, have a seat. I'll get Bill."

Cas slipped into the cubicle closest to the door and shrugged out of her jacket. She'd barely had time to wonder if this was such a good idea when a man slid onto the seat opposite her. He set a clipboard on the table and looked up at Cas.

"Hi, I'm Bill. Amy says you're here about the job" His smile was open and friendly, but Cas decided to err on the side of caution. She nodded and shook his hand.

"I'm Cas."

"Got a last name to go with that?"

"Smith," Cas said quickly.

"Smith? With that accent?" Bill's dark eyes twinkled while Cas inwardly cursed her obviously Southern accent. Before she could offer an explanation, Bill shrugged. "So, Miss Cas Smith, you got any experience waitressing?"

"In high school, yeah. But that was a couple of years ago."

Bill nodded. "This place gets busy in the afternoons, early evening. College students, mostly."

"I'm a quick learner." Cas wondered if she sounded as desperate as she felt.

Bill's gaze was slightly unnerving. Then he nodded again. "Okay. Eight bucks an hour plus whatever tips you make."

"Okay."

"Great. Be here at six A.M. tomorrow. I'll get a uniform for you while you fill this in." He slid the clipboard across the table.

Cas' breath caught in her throat. "I don't have an address or phone number yet."

Bill sighed. "Fill in what you can."

Cas picked up the pen and began to write, memorizing each lie as she created it. Bill returned a few minutes later with a uniform.

"I had to guess at your size. Hope it fits."

Cas smiled. "Thanks."

"Hey, Bill" Amy called from the counter. She'd put a coat over her uniform and carried a bag. "I'm off."

"You're not walking, are you?"

Cas wondered at the sudden worry in Bill's tone but said nothing.

Amy rolled her eyes. "I live, like, a block away. Nothing's going to happen."

"I don't know, Amy. The cops still haven't caught the psycho who killed Stella. I'd feel better if you took a cab."

"A cab!" Amy scoffed. "I'm a broke student."

Bill took out his wallet and handed Amy a note. "Call a cab."

While Amy made the call, Cas turned curious eyes to Bill. "Are you that concerned about all your waitresses?"

Bill pressed his lips together. "A couple of months ago, someone who worked here was killed. I just don't want anyone else getting hurt. Umm, where are you staying? You said you didn't have an address yet?"

"I'm at a motel," Cas lied. "No reason to worry."

Bill smiled. "Can't help it."

* * *

Richard's frown deepened as he stared at the portrait of his brother's family. Without thinking it through, he picked up the nearest object – a biography of David Livingstone – and hurled it at the portrait.

"I spent twenty years of my life looking for you! You owe me!"

He thought about the cost of the last two decades: he was unmarried, childless, estranged from his sister . . . for what? For an ungrateful nephew who spat in his face the first chance he got.

He should have left him in the jungle.

'This was Jane Porter's fault,' Richard thought. 'She'd poisoned John against him and used Kathleen to help.'

Richard smiled. It was time to get serious.


	4. three

Three

Jane helped herself to another slice of pizza and leaned back against the couch. Nikki, curled up in the armchair, quietly regarded her sister, looking away only to reach for the pizza. Eventually, Jane sighed and looked at Nikki.

"What?"

Nikki smiled. "So, uh, you and John?"

Jane took a bite of pizza to avoid answering.

"Well" Nikki said"I think it's cool. I like John."

"We didn't sleep together."

Nikki shrugged. "Jane, I'm not a prude—"

"Really, Nik. I fell asleep while he was massaging me."

"You fell asleep? If he was massaging me, there's no way I'd fall asleep—" She was cut off when the cushion Jane threw hit her on the head. "Hey!"

"You don't think – Never mind." Jane sighed.

Nikki grew serious and moved from the armchair to sit next to Jane. "You're still feeling guilty about Michael?"

"Since when are you the psychologist?" Jane smiled, trying to deflect Nikki's attention. For once, Nikki didn't take the bait.

"Jane, John makes you happy. I've never been in love, but even I can tell there's something special about your relationship with him. And," she paused, "I bet if you'd had the chance to break up with Michael, accepting what you feel for John wouldn't so difficult, am I right?"

Jane said nothing.

"Stop looking at me like I've got two heads or something."

Jane hugged her sister, then kissed Nikki's forehead. "When did you get so smart?"

Nikki grinned. " Psychoanalysis and Film Theory 101."

"Hello."

The women broke apart, turning towards Jane's bedroom. John stood in the doorway. Nikki got up.

"I'm going to go to bed. Night, guys."

Jane smiled at John. "Hey. You hungry?"

John shook his head. Jane patted the seat next to her.

"John, uh, we need to talk. About us."

"Yes."

"I've been thinking. I want to be with you, but I don't want us to rush into anything." She reached up, playing with the ends of his hair as she always did when she was nervous. "Are you okay with us taking things slowly?"

John covered her hand with his. "I will wait for you."

"I'd still really like you to spend the night. Just to sleep."

"No kissing?"

Jane felt her resolve weakening. "Umm, maybe just one kiss."

'Or,' she thought as he lowered his lips to hers, 'two. Definitely no more than three.'

* * *

Cas went back to Central Park after her shift. It had gone better than she expected, considering she'd lied about having any experience. And she'd made two friends – Bill, who reminded her of her brother, and Amy, who was sweet but completely naïve.

A bit like Abby.

Cas shook her head. No. She would not think of Abby. Even now, it still hurt.

Again, Cas wondered how wise trying to find the blond stranger was. Maybe her being in New York was just a coincidence. After all, how was she supposed to convince him that his life was in danger? She didn't know who he was, who the redhead was, or what they were doing up on that roof.

He probably wouldn't believe her anyway.

_He might._

Cas froze. "Abby?" she whispered, but of course there was no reply.

Her stomach chose that moment to remind her that it was lunchtime, and she hadn't eaten since yesterday. Digging in her pocket for some of her precious tip money, she made her way across the grass to a food vendor and bought a hot dog. Then she found an empty bench and sat down, trying to pretend she was as normal as anyone else.

Almost immediately, the black curtain closed in on her vision, and the roar of the ocean filled her ears. She saw the redheaded woman arguing with the blond, reaching for him—

She opened her eyes, the brightness of the world stunning her briefly. She blinked.

_Help them._

For a moment, Cas could actually feel Abby's presence, could smell the strawberry shampoo she'd used, and then, just as quickly, she was gone.

Cas squeezed her eyes closed to keep her tears from falling.

* * *

Richard glanced at his watch again. He hated tardiness and hoped this wasn't an indication of his employee's work ethic. When his waiter approached the table, Richard irritably ordered a scotch, not caring that midday was a little early to start drinking.

Just after the waiter left, a man sat down opposite him. "Mr. Clayton?"

"Yes."

The man extended his hand to shake Richard's. "Pleased to meet you."

Richard smiled and slid a manila envelope across the table. "That contains pictures of Jane Porter, plus whatever information you might need."

The man opened the envelope, studied the photographs, and smiled. "She's lovely."

Richard passed another envelope to the man. "That's half of it. You'll get the rest when the job is done."

The man pocketed the envelope. He shook Richard's hand again and stood. "Have a good day, Mr. Clayton."

* * *

Tarzan slipped quietly through Jane's bedroom window. He tiptoed out into the apartment. Jane was in the kitchen, her back turned towards him. He covered her eyes with his hands, then whispered"Hello."

She turned around and kissed him. "Hi."

"Are you ready to go?"

"Go where?"

Instead of answering, he took her hands and led her back to the bedroom. "You might want to put more comfortable shoes on."

Jane sat on the edge of the bed, removed her boots, and put on a pair of sneakers. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"We're going on a date."

"A date?"

He nodded. "Kathleen says dates are an important part of the mating ritual."

Jane couldn't think of a single thing to say in response.

Tarzan hopped onto the windowsill. "Are you ready?"

"Shouldn't we use the door?"

He grinned. "No."

"Okay." Jane climbed out onto the fire escape and followed Tarzan up to the roof. When they reached the top, he sat on the edge and held out his arm for Jane.

"Uh, John, I'm not sure how safe this is—"

"I won't let anything happen to you."

She sat, scooting close to him.

"Look how beautiful it is," he said, gesturing to the view of the city.

"I thought you didn't like it." Jane sounded surprised.

"This is my home now."

Jane took his hand and wound her fingers through his. "I'm glad."

'And,' thought Tarzan, 'so was he.'


	5. four

Four

"We've got a problem." Sam dropped a folded newspaper onto Jane's desk and leaned against the edge, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Jane picked up the paper, her forehead creasing as she read the headline.

"Butcher stalks NY women." She shook her head. "How'd the press get hold of this?"

"Emily Rosa's roommate was talking to someone she thought was a cop."

Jane pinched the bridge of her nose. "I hate reporters."

Sam nodded.

"Hey, Sullivan, Porter," a uniformed cop called from across the bullpen, "you got a statement for the press?" He looked at them expectantly, covering the mouthpiece of a phone with his hand.

Jane and Sam exchanged glances. "Uh, the usual, we can't comment on an ongoing investigation, yada, yada, yada."

"In other words," Jane said under her breath, "we're nowhere."

Sam sighed in agreement. "You know, Gene had this case before us."

Jane looked up at him. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That we go back—"

"To the beginning." She stood and picked up her jacket. "Let's do it."

* * *

Kathleen sat at her desk, making notes in her day planner. She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up, relaxing when she saw her nephew. He approached the desk slowly, then leaped over the back of a chair before sitting in it. The chair was arranged at an angle, so he had to twist slightly to be able to look directly at Kathleen. When she realized that he wasn't going to say anything, she smiled.

"How was your date? I didn't hear you come in."

John's face lit up in a smile. "Good. Great. She let me stay the night again."

"So, Romeo, looks like things are going well."

"Romeo?"

Kathleen laughed. "Never mind. So you spent the night, huh? This is becoming a regular thing."

"She lets me hold her while she sleeps." John's eyes had a faraway look, a mixture of childlike innocence, pure delight, and something else. "I like waking up with her."

"Well, Jane's a lucky woman."

"Why?"

"Because you're a great catch."

John's forehead creased in confusion. "A great catch?"

"It's a figure of speech." Kathleen waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. Have you had lunch yet?"

John shook his head.

"Good. Neither have I." She rose and waited while John did the same. They walked side by side to the kitchen, John's step so light that he was practically bouncing. Kathleen held back a smile.

"Kathleen, why did you never marry?" John turned his head to look at her, his expression curious.

She shrugged. "I guess I never met the right person."

"I think," John said slowly, "that you would be a great catch, too."

Kathleen stopped, touched at the tenderness in his words. For the thousandth time, she wished she'd had a chance to watch John grow up. And for the thousandth time, she wondered at how remarkable his survival actually was.

"Thank you, John."

* * *

Cas had her back to the door when the bell jingled, announcing the arrival of a customer. She turned, her smile dying on her lips when she saw who had entered: the redhead from her dream, accompanied by a strange black man. For a moment, she was frozen in position; then she picked up two menus and walked up to them.

"Table for two?" Though her voice was strained, the couple didn't seem to notice.

The redhead exchanged glances with her companion, then smiled. She moved her jacket to reveal the gold detective's shield on her belt. The man did the same.

"I'm Detective Porter; this is Detective Sullivan. We're looking for Bill Styler. Is he around?"

"He's in the back. Have a seat; I'll call him for you." Cas looked back over her shoulder before going around the counter and into the small office. Yesterday she'd seen the blond man, and today, the redhead. Maybe she'd been wrong; maybe this was more than just coincidence.

_They need you._

"Cas? Something wrong?" Bill stood as she entered. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"There are some cops here to see you."

Bill's smile faded. "Did they say why?"

Cas shook her head.

"Bring us some coffee, won't you?" He held the door for her, then crossed the room to where the cops sat. Cas watched him. When he pulled out a chair and sat, she took out three mugs from under the counter and picked up a pot of coffee.

"I don't understand," Bill was saying as she put the mugs on the table, "that other detective was here months ago about Stella. Are you saying you still haven't found anything?"

"No, the previous detective in charge," Detective Sullivan glanced at his partner, "is no longer in charge. We're just trying to get a feel for the case."

Detective Porter continued, "We're also hoping you might have remembered something that didn't occur to you the first time."

Cas poured coffee into each of the mugs, unashamed that she was eavesdropping. For all she knew, the information could be important later on.

"Thanks," Detective Porter said, then looked up at Cas. "Did you know Stella Di Fabrizi?"

Cas shook her head, breaking eye contact. "Sorry. I just started here."

"Cas, can you bring more sugar?"

She nodded and went back to the counter. Fortunately, the lunchhour rush had passed, and she had no other patrons she had to worry about. She kept her eyes on the detectives, but they were speaking too low for her to hear anything.

She hadn't expected the redhead to be a detective. Did that mean the blond man was a criminal? Somehow she knew that wasn't the case.

A chill ran up Cas' spine. If Abby was right, both Detective Porter and the blond stranger were in danger, and Cas didn't know enough to help them.

* * *

"Thanks for your time," Jane said. She stood and shook Bill's hand.

"If you remember anything," Sam added.

"Yeah, I'll call."

Jane followed Sam to the door, then felt someone watching her. She turned; surprised to see the waitress' gaze fixed on her. Cath? No, Cas. Something had spooked her, but Jane wasn't sure what. Jane wondered if she'd been lying about when she started working there.

"Hey, Sam, go on ahead. I'll be out in a minute." She walked up to the counter. "Hi."

Cas wouldn't meet her gaze. "Um, did you want something else?"

Jane took a card from her pocket and passed it to Cas. "If you can think of anything that might help."

Cas studied the card, then finally looked at Jane. "I hope you find him."

Jane nodded and turned to leave. As she reached the door, Cas called out, "Detective Porter!"

She looked back.

"Be careful."

Cas knew something, Jane was sure of it. She decided to give her a day or two to call. If Cas hadn't contacted her by then, Jane would pay her another visit.

* * *

When Cas' shift ended, she waved goodbye to Bill, glad he was on the phone and wouldn't give her trouble about walking home. 'Home' was a motel three blocks from the coffee shop, nicer than a lot of other places Cas had stayed, but nothing like the house she had grown up in.

Cas didn't want to think about the life she'd left behind. She hadn't thought about her family in weeks. Abby wouldn't leave her alone, but she had learned to live with that. She shoved her hands into her pockets, and her fingers curled around the card Detective Porter had given her.

The black curtain fell across her vision. The dull, familiar roar of the ocean rose in her ears.

Detective Porter. The blond man. He looked angry, and she seemed . . . scared? Of him? She reached for him, saying something Cas couldn't hear. He pushed her hands aside, and she stumbled, falling to her knees.

Someone bumped into Cas, pulling her out of the vision. The sudden return to reality was jarring, and Cas looked around her in confusion.

"Hello, Cassandra." The voice was low, deceptively warm, just the slightest hint of a Southern drawl.

Cas turned around and began to run.


End file.
